


Bag of bombs

by AutumnBlownAway



Category: Outer Banks - Fandom
Genre: (hinted) - Freeform, Character Study (Sorta), Graphic abuse, Hurt JJ (Outer Banks), I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JJ (Outer Banks) Deserves Better, JJ (Outer Banks) Needs Love, JJ (Outer Banks) Needs a Hug, John B. Routledge is a good friend, Luke Maybank's A+ Parenting, Mostly Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, fuck him, he deserves the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnBlownAway/pseuds/AutumnBlownAway
Summary: He was screaming, snarling, as he paced in his room, unable to hear above the gritty rock music his father was blasting from the living room. JJ grips his hair, pulling and scratching, anything to distract him from the ache of his face, the wheezed breath he was shakily huffing out.It didn’t work.“You tell me how you’re gonna pay it back, boy! 30 fuckin’ thousand!” His father was in a drunken rage, emptying bottles in minutes.He grunts, desperate to kick anything, anyone-“GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”The slam of another bottle.- - - - - -(Or, an in-depth look at JJ’s scene in episode 5, aka JJ having an internal struggle about doing the right thing)
Relationships: JJ (Outer Banks) & John B. Routledge (Mentioned)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 92





	Bag of bombs

**Author's Note:**

> hi. 
> 
> Long time no see, right?  
> I’m sorry about all my past fics- but I just,, lost interest. It’d be too long to explain everything, so I’ll just say that I lost mostly all inspiration to write a year back.  
> Until Outer Banks was released onto Netflix.  
> I have so much motivation to write for this fandom, ESPECIALLY JJ bc I absolutely adore him and I’ve cried way too many times from this show in general and his character development he goes through.. [looks at hot tub scene]  
> Hope you enjoy, I cried at 12am while writing this :)))  
> Title from Bag of Bombs by diet tea other cola  
> 9https://soundcloud.com/diet_tea_other_cola/bag-of-bombs)

JJ didn’t want to get in the car. 

He knew what would happen, what he’d get, for taking the fall for Pope. He knew there was going to be _more_ bruises to hide and _more_ pain to mask. 

He was so fucking _tired._

JJ _really_ didn’t want to get into that car.

Lifting an arm and grabbing the vehicle door, he hesitantly swung it open and sat down on the seat, lips pursed and eyes downcast. 

_Maybe, just maybe, if he acted sorry his dad wouldn’t be so mean.._

_Maybe, there’d just be a few hits.._

He scoffed, doubt chipping away at his words.

**_(He knew that’d never happen.)_ **

He was alarmingly aware of his father’s presence next to him, the man’s eyes burning and the droll of his fingertips enough to make JJ wanna curl up and _hide._

He hesitantly opened his mouth, “Dad, I-”

He never finished before fists flew at him, and his head bashed against the car window, decorated with a spray of blood.

(He didn’t know what injury _that_ was from)

(Probably a new one to add to the list.)

“30!”

Another punch.

“FUCKING,”

Another punch. 

“THOUSAND,”

another punch. And another. Another. He wanted to scream, pry his father off his **already** bruised body, but the man was too strong and JJ was too _weak._

_(He always got in fights because for once, he didn’t want to be the fucking_ **_weak_ ** _one.)_

_“_ DOLLARS!”

JJ continued to be beaten into the corner of the car, each punch hitting the same spot over and _over and over._

  
it _hurt. It hurt, so **goddamn** much.   
  
_

he couldn’t breathe through his choked protests, couldn’t _move._

_Please stop, please stop, PLEASE-_

The car kept shaking with his father’s enraged punches.

**(Any hope he had died the second he laid eyes on the car, anyways.)**

  
  


  * a. A. A aa a. A aa a a. Aa a. A. Aa -



  
  
  


He was screaming, _snarling,_ as he paced in his room, unable to hear above the gritty rock music his father was blasting from the living room. JJ grips his hair, pulling and scratching, _anything_ to distract him from the ache of his face, the wheezed breath he was shakily huffing out.

It didn’t work. 

“You tell me how you’re gonna pay it back, boy? 30 fuckin’ thousand!” His father was in a drunken rage, emptying bottles in minutes. 

He grunts, desperate to kick anything, _anyone_ \- 

“GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”

The slam of another bottle. 

Trembling, he whipped around to pace the room again. He was stuck, trapped, like a deer in headlights. 

JJ was scared, but he was safe- right? Locked up in his room, his father wouldn’t get to him. _Couldn’t_ get to him. 

(In the back of his mind, where the darkest demons dwell, the memory of **_that_ ** _night resurfaces, for a split second, before JJ shoves it down. Because he wouldn’t and_ **_couldn’t_ ** _throw up here, no, he’d just enrage his father even more.)_

His father kept yelling, coming up with more spitting insults that stung more than the last. 

_Shut UP shut UP SHUT UP-_

JJ’s breathing escalated into pants, mixed with a slight hiss whenever he took in _too_ much air and his cracked ribs protested against the inflation. _Fuck._

_You can breathe, slowly, small breaths. Come on, you idiot, breathe. Breathe._

“Worthless piece of SHIT,” his dad hollered, slamming another bottle down. “And your mama knew it too!”

“SHUT UP! SHUT _UP!”_ JJ half sobbed-half screamed, ripping a tuft of hair from his bleeding scalp. _Leave me alone, mama_ **_loved_ ** _me, she never called me a fuckup, a waste of space, a disappointment for a son._

She was the one who left though, and his father was the one who stayed. 

Funny. 

In hopes to silence his father, the _screams,_ he slammed his hands against the door, it’s frame shaking as JJ recoiled in a gasping shock. His bruised knuckles shook, and his stomach _rolled_. Doors, apparently, don’t take nicely to banging fists. 

He wretched out a sob, drowned in the pumping riff of the rock and father’s snarling insults. Drowning in thoughts, why couldn’t it be quiet, why couldn’t it be silence and _peaceful_ and, and- 

Moving to the wall, attempting to make that _noise_ quieter, he threw his hands at the wall, the _thump, thump, thump,_ shaking paint off the ceiling.

JJ ignored it

(Wouldn’t be the first time) 

He thumps again, and again, _and again,_ vaguely aware of the blood slowly dripping from his knuckles and splatting onto the floor. 

He just wants it to be **quiet** for fuck’s sake, to be calm. 

_Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!_

_(He didn’t know he’d been screaming)_

_(all he saw was red hand-prints, over and over, smeared on the wall)_

  * _a a a. Aa a a. Aa aa. Aa a. A aa a. -_



First thing JJ noticed, was the quiet. It was silent. 

No birds, no radio or music, just… quiet.

JJ didn’t know, now that he had finally got what he’d be _begging_ for, what to do with it. 

Silence could be peaceful, amazing.

The _noise_ was gone, and so was the sharp music and yells of his father, gone was JJ’s heart-wrenching screams. 

Him and John B often fished in silence, on those days where JJ didn’t feel like talking. Listening to the gurgle of water, trill of the birds, hum of the cicadas. 

**(** ** _They ignored the fact he_ ** **_couldn’t_ ** **_talk- the handprints around his throat all too evident of the night before.)_ **

But, silence was also bad. Terrifying.

Too much opportunity in silence. His father could be luring him out, or he’d be asleep, and would wake up the second JJ tried to escape.

Or, _or,_ maybe his father was gone, and DCS finally got their heads outta their asses and looked just _slightly_ to the left of John B, and saw the stitched-up, broken boy with a fiery attitude and looks to match. 

_John B- he should find him. Wherever he went, JJ would always find him. John B always knew how to stitch him up, time after time._

Mind made up, JJ huffed and picked himself off the floor, stretching-

Immediately, his knees buckled, ribs on fire, and _oh yeah!_ His father happened. 

Ignoring the pain, (he was best at that. Should have a fucking trophy or some shit.) JJ trudged to the door, ignoring the splattered red handprints that decorated his room wall, and pushed the door open.

The living room looked like it had been hit with an alcohol hurricane, to say the least. Bottles littered the floor, the table, and- was that his gun? 

_That was_ **_his_ ** _gun._ **_His_ ** _protection._

JJ, all pinched eyebrows and a deep-set frown, approached the side table that held his gun.

He surveyed his sleeping father- hand wrapped loosely around a bottle, the normally twisted expression morphed into one of serenity.

**(** **_He didn’t mention the way his body shook.)_ **

Desperate, hateful eyes met the angry, drunk man on the couch who was fast asleep, and flew back to the gun. Hesitating. Thinking. 

JJ snatched it up before he truly knew what he was doing, and limped to stand in front of his still-sleeping father, emotions in turmoil and mind at war. 

_It’d be so easy. You’d be free, open and wild to do anything you’d like. Just a squeeze, and all the pain’ll go away.._

_No more bruises, which shone like splotches of paint that covered his body like a canvas._

_(He didn’t know how many layers there were anymore.)_

_**(** **He’d** **stopped counting when he turned 10.)** _

_Imagine.._ his brain supplied, the candied, hissed words churning something deep, a sort of rage, something animalistic that filled up JJ to the brink of insanity.

He raises the gun, lining it up his ~~dad’s~~ abuser’s face.

He bit his lip, feeling the tang of blood, feeling his hands that shook.

_Kill him, kill him. No more masks, no more hiding bruises and scratches, no more lying. No more pain, hurting, suffering. No more red-handprints or paint flecks in your hair._

_He deserves it, that asshole. Deserves to_ **_die_ ** _from what he did to you._

**_Does_ ** _to you._

_You’d be f r e e_

JJ cocks the gun, raising his bruised, aching face to meet his reflection in the window, to get a last look at the abused boy, with too many emotions and not enough heart to process them all.

(It’s been his heart, in the end, that was his downfall.)

Tears trickled down his face, silently rolling and dripping to the ground. He couldn’t cry, _wouldn’t_ cry, but the angry sob that caught in his throat made him grit his teeth in pain. 

His lips _curled_ at the emotion.

_“Men don’t cry, son.”_

His hands tightened on the gun.

(No, no, it was fine- it’d all be over soon. He’d be free.)

His reflection stared back at him, bloodshot eyes, ratty blonde hair, mouth slightly ajar with **blood stained** teeth. All feral eyes, which shocked him with the amount of rage, of hate, that swirled and shone. 

They looked ready to **_kill._ **

His arms shake, his breath hitches- the gun lurches, but JJ steadies it, eyes hardening.

_It’d be so e a s y_

_(They’d always called him a bomb. A ticking time bomb.)_

_“That Maybank kid, a loose cannon.”_

_“Stay away from him, you hear me? He’s a bomb set to go off, a trigger amongst safety locks”_

_“He’s feral, that boy. With that wild hair, just as wild as his personality.”_

**Feral? He’d show them fucking** **_feral_ ** **.**

He was more like… a bag of bombs. He was too much, and people had no idea what to do with him

( **They’d set the bombs off, rather than disarm them)**

JJ takes the safety off and resteadies his hand, eyes swirling with hate and pain. So much fucking _pain._

God, his face hurt. His head _ached._

_Sorry dad, your time is fucking over. You deserve this._

**_(He deserves this and more.)  
_ **

_“He deserves jail, Pope! You know what he’s like- what he’s done.”_

_“He’s just like his father, son. Shitfaced drunk or high half the time, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone”_

_No._

**_NO._ **

He mentally stumbled back- he was- he was **not** like his father.

_Kei, staring at him in horror, while he shoves the barrel of the gun against the back of Topper’s head, laughing, eyes glittering._

_Sarah screaming at him, but all JJ focused on was that_ **_son of a bitch_ ** _drowning his best friend, his fucking_ **_brother._ ** _The only one who can calm the storm that is JJ Maybank._

_(His father, standing above him, leg aimed to kick and his bruised stomach, eyes shining with contempt)_

_People- kids, teens like him, yelling and screaming as he shoots rounds into the air._

_(JJ’s own screams as he’s bashed against the wall, unheard, unnoticed.)_

He jerks away, breathing too fast and trembling too much. His legs felt like jelly- he couldn’t move. Didn’t want to think. 

JJ lowers the gun, a sob caught in his throat and terror masked in his eyes.

_He_ **_wasn’t_ ** _his father. He wasn’t a_ **_murderer._ **

The gun clatters to the floor, echoing in the heavy silence that had filled the room.

(He doesn’t notice)

People said “at least your father wasn’t a killer” but they didn’t _know._ They didn’t see the bruises and gashes, didn’t witness the thick hands around his neck, choking, squeezing. Didn’t know the feeling of being thrown into a wall. He felt like he was about to die, **each and every time)**

**(Sometimes, he’d wish it. Would’ve been a hell of a lot easier to cope.)**

He needed to get out of there. Fast. 

Before he did something that he’d regret, or before his father woke up.

**(Would you** **_really?)_ **

Head aching, cracked ribs _slicing_ against his skin in a searing pain, JJ clambered onto the motorbike. 

The engine revved as he sped away from the godforsaken house, and he exhales a large breath as the wind whips in his hair, as he drinks in the salted whisps of breeze, feeling the pounding of his heartbeat and curl of pain that resided within.

But he was alive- alive to see another day, to contradict the fuckers that **_he wasn’t his father_ ** _._

_He may be crazy, but he’d NEVER be that cruel of a man._

JJ was, after all, a bag of bombs. 

A small, barely visible smile tugs at his lips as he unconsciously turns left towards the Chateau, toward his friends.

( _And bombs can’t disarm themselves)_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> SORRY I’M CRYING TOO
> 
> I wanna write more, but I decided to start with the first moment we see JJ’s on-screen abuse come to light, and go from there.  
> I could rant for AGES on how it breaks my heart that this is canon (Mostly. I just added stuff to make it 100x worse), but i just. Have no words. 
> 
> If you didn’t know, this is based off the scenes after JJ is picked up from the police station and, well, everything that follows. :’)))
> 
> ALSO this fandom is fairly new, so I’m super excited to see it grow and evolve and we’re all breaking down and waiting for season 2. Can’t wait for this rollercoaser, y’all.
> 
> (Ty to one of my friends who helped me come up with a summary note. Ily!)
> 
> stay safe everyone!


End file.
